Clementine Churchill, historians tell us, was worried, that autumn day in 1943. Not so much about the war ongoing – she trusted God and her husband, Winston, to take care of the fighting and a world hell-bent on destroying itself. No, Clementine was more concerned about her grandson (also named Winston), the first Churchill of his generation and a boy soon to be marking his third birthday.
His grandparents had decided to celebrate the occasion with the gift of a grand toy train set. But Mrs. Churchill, who’d experienced her share of life’s less-welcome surprises, had begun wondering if the set they’d purchased had all of its parts included. What a terrible thing, if the little one opened his great present only to find the engine, caboose, or some key piece of track missing or broken or marred.
Her concern grew to the point that she did exactly what you would do, in the same situation – assuming your spouse was prime minister of the kingdom. She called up the nearest military post and had a soldier sent over to open the train set, inspect the contents, and do a preliminary test run of the equipment.
The young soldier who drew that assignment found himself on the living room floor of the Churchill’s magnificent country quarters, his daily routine of marching drill and assembling rifles exchanged, temporarily, for the duties of laying track and choo-chooing. He wasn’t entirely sure what to make of the trade, and murmured quiet misgivings to himself as he hunched on all fours, putting the miniature railroad together.
At some point, he became aware of two slippered feet poised a few inches across the carpet from where he was working. They seemed an especially fancy kind of slipper. Embroidered in gold across the toes were the initials, “W.C.”
He looked slowly up at the great, siren-suited bulk of the prime minister himself, eyes keenly on the project, a glass of whiskey in one hand, and one of his famous cigars in the other.
“Well, go on,” Churchill urged him. “This is very important work you’re doing.”
The soldier returned to his efforts, now deeply aware of how closely he was being watched. After a few minutes, the track was all laid and one of the two engines was on it, a car or two and a caboose in tow. He bent over the switch, glancing up at the prime minister, who nodded encouragingly. The soldier flipped on the electricity, and the little train chugged ‘round the curves. Churchill looked on happily, puffing at his cigar.
“Try the other one,” he said, getting down on all fours beside the soldier, who promptly started the other engine on its own route around the track. A few cheerful moments of chugging and whistling ensued, Churchill and the soldier both lost in their inner-boy wonder. Then, eyes twinkling, the prime minister removed his cigar and looked at the young man, dropping his voice to a conspiratorial whisper.
“Now,” he said, “let’s make them crash!”
Like thinking of God that way. Calling us to a particular task. Watching fondly, encouraging gently, taking a keen personal interest in our doing what He’s directed us to do. Coming down beside us, to show us, tell us how best to do it. Sharing with us the full joy of accomplishment. Delighting in our wonder at what is possible.
Ah, but what to do with the “planned collisions” … the desire to see something crash?
I confess, there are some crashes that I long to see. False prophets humbled. Power-fixated leaders brought low. The cruel and arrogant and vindictive hoisted high on their own petards. The liars, cheats, and manipulators tripped up hard by their own machinations.
Their fate is in God’s hands, and His justice will be accomplished. Is being accomplished even now, no doubt, in ways I cannot see. But, oh, some days, to have Him look at me, eyes twinkling, and say, “Let’s make them crash!”
Don’t want these awful folks destroyed, you understand – any more than Churchill wanted his grandson’s train bashed to pieces. I just long, as my friend Kenny says, for the action Paul describes in 2 Corinthians 10:3-6:
“The weapons of our warfare are not carnal but mighty in God for pulling down strongholds, casting down arguments and every high thing that exalts itself against the knowledge of God, bringing every thought into captivity to the obedience of Christ, and being ready to punish all disobedience when your obedience is fulfilled.”
So many, many, many “high things” are “exalting themselves against the knowledge of God” right now. Oh, to see those strongholds blasted open – those arguments and their owners yanked down off those high horses. (‘m speaking of others, of course – I have no desire at all to see my own delusions demolished, my dark sins exposed, my considerable faults made a spectacle. This is just for the Bad Guys, what ‘m saying here.)
But the good guys, sad to say, can’t win without a “when.”
God is “ready to punish all disobedience,” He promises, looking directly at me, “when your obedience is fulfilled.”
It almost sounds like the Bad Guys may not fall until my own inner rebellions are subdued. No victory, there, without surrender, here.
He’s ready when I am.
Sigh. The crashing, I guess, will have to be postponed a little longer.
Good of Him to wait.
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